


Harrowed and Joined

by thewickedloki



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age Fluff, F/M, Post-Blight, The Blight (Dragon Age), connections between Amell and Hawke because I live for family shenanigans, mention of the Dark Ritual, run away to antiva already, the blight sucks, this is an entirely self-indulgent fic but i hope you enjoy it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewickedloki/pseuds/thewickedloki
Summary: Hero of Ferelden. Warden Commander. Arlessa of Amaranthine. Archmage of Kinloch Hold. Tired. A harrowed mage and a joined Grey Warden can never really be free... unless love is freedom.





	1. Evening in Redcliffe

"You know, I could get used to this, my dear." Zevran strolled the perimeter of the grandiose bedroom with raised eyebrows. "First the estate in Denerim, and now the estate in Redcliffe? There are more pillows in this room alone than in the entire whorehouse where I was raised."  
  
"Hm." Solona frowned, eyes drifting over the flames crackling merrily in the fireplace. Her elbows rested on her knees, hands clasped where they dangled between her legs. The bed was too soft, and she didn't want to think about it.  
  
Zevran paused, turning his attention more fully toward her. "We could always invite the archdemon here. Perhaps he just needs a rest and will be less cranky if he has the appropriate number of cushions supporting him. One's back must begin to ache after carrying around a tail that large all day."  
  
"Mhmm, good idea." Solona blinked, then looked up when Zevran stood between her and the fire.  
  
One fingertip rested beneath her chin to tilt her face toward his. "You are miles away. You just agreed to invite the archdemon into the bedroom."  
  
She tried to smile, but her lips didn't seem to want to move. "Could you make sure the door is locked, Zev?"  
  
He frowned, brows coming together, but still, he strode across the room and checked the locks. "We have as much privacy as one could hope for."  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
"Can I respond in poetry?"  
  
"Not this time."  
  
"Not even a smile." Zevran eased down onto the mattress beside her, his body a line of warmth beside her. She shifted to press their thighs together, and at her movement, he reached to take her hand. The physical contact helped, just as it always helped. She was tethered to this world, to the here and now, but that meant that the walls had to come down. It was their silent agreement, never needing to be spoken.  
  
"Riordan explained why the Grey Wardens are needed to kill an archdemon," she began, tasting the words as though there was bile coating her tongue. "Its spirit, or essence, or whatever you want to call it, will seek out the taint in another body when the dragon's body is destroyed. A Grey Warden's soul holds it there, and when the Grey Warden's body dies, both souls are destroyed." A slow breath shakes into her lungs. "Wish I'd known that before I killed Loghain."  
  
Zevran's voice is careful, deliberately neutral. "Would that have altered your decision? He would still have been your enemy."  
  
"I know. I still would have executed him."  
  
The silence stretched between them as chills tingled along her ribs. "So, if you make the killing blow..." Zevran stops himself, drawing in a careful breath rather than finishing the sentence.  
  
"Riordan decided that it should fall to him because the taint won't spare him for much longer. But if he dies, it's me or Alistair, yes."  
  
"And you will not allow Ferelden to lose a king who is so needed to balance its queen." Bitterness sharpened his tone. "So you must sacrifice again."  
  
"Maybe none of us will have to."  
  
Zevran's gaze snapped to her, eyes sharp. "What are you saying?"  
  
To Solona's ears, someone else was explaining Morrigan's ritual to him, describing her conversation with Alistair so coldly that she wondered where the self-loathing had gone, for it surely wasn't in that lifeless voice. Gradually, she sank back into her body, and her tongue felt thick and heavy as she spoke. "So, now, I'm sitting here with you gaining whatever last moments of solace I can, and I've not only condemned my friend to marriage to his brother's widow, I've also brought him to Morrigan to participate in a secret he's going to hate himself for." There it was, the hatred dripping from her too-heavy tongue to poison each word. "I did that to him on the day I made him king when it's the last thing in the world he wants-"  
  
"Solona." Zevran waited until she looked at him, his fingers still entwined with hers, their hands laying in her lap. "Why did you decide to make Alistair the king, and Anora the queen?"  
  
"Because it makes sense," she managed, voice thickening. "She's an experienced ruler who the people love, but she doesn't have the bloodline that most of the country demands, and she's too calculating to rule with compassion. Alistair will balance her, he has the right bloodline, and he'll be a good king."  
  
"What will make him a good king? He has no experience and was raised outside of the nobility."  
  
"He believes in morality." Her brow furrowed. "And for all Morrigan's mockery, he's intelligent. He has a Chantry education that he's willing and even eager to surpass. He wants to help the country against the Blight, and he'll do something for the mages, and in the alienage, and..."  
  
"He is kind, and his kindness will be tempered by his queen's ruthless calculations, yes?"  
  
She nodded. "It makes sense."  
  
"And why did you speak to Alistair about this ritual?"  
  
Solona swallowed. "It... Makes sense. It gives all of us the best chance of survival."  
  
"And why do any of you besides Alistair deserve to survive?" Zevran's voice was low, reasonable, despite his words. "He is the king, is he not? And if an older Grey Warden dies, or a mage, what is the loss? Who would miss them? Riordan would be performing his duty, as would you. If the taint is close to taking him, he will not be missed any more than if it had taken him at last. And you are a mage outside of the Circle who has also taken the duties of a Grey Warden. Who would miss you, save for an assassin who should be dead?" He pulled their clasped hands into his lap and moved his free hand into her hair, winding the heavy copper curls around his fingers. "You say all of these things in your own mind, no? That wicked mind with no mercy for yourself."  
  
Her throat tightened. "I never think that about you. You shouldn't be dead."  
  
Zevran laughed softly. "Mercy for me before mercy for yourself. Solona." He brought his face close to hers, his breath brushing against her lips. "Then think of practicality, if you will not think of my heart or yours. You, a mage, have done things that no other mage in your country has attempted. You are in the best position to help to drag them away from the Chantry. Every army that has been gathered under the Grey Warden banner has joined with _you_ , not with Ferelden. The king needs his general, and you, my dear, are it. You are the champion for your mages and the unifying voice for the Dalish and the dwarves. You put the king on his throne. Who is to say that it will not all fall apart should you die?"  
  
Tears pricked her eyes but did not fall, and Zevran moved his hand to cradle the back of her head. "But, for a moment, indulge my selfishness, and think of my heart before the hearts of the thousands of people you intend to save." His hand tightened into a fist, somehow still gentle at the back of her head. "I have not come on this ridiculous adventure with you only to have you snatched away from me by a dragon in the final battle. That would be a terrible story, and Leliana would write a terrible song about it that would live on for centuries. Do not condemn us both to fame in a terrible song." His voice softened, barely above a whisper. "Is the thought of surviving so awful?"  
  
"No. That isn't it at all," she said softly, and he nodded.  
  
"I know. But perhaps there is no need to punish yourself for wishing to survive, then, hm?"  
  
She tilted her head to look at him, his eyes so close to hers it was almost painful. Her free hand moved to his neck, holding him there, and she closed her eyes. "Every decision I've made since the Joining has affected so many people," she whispered. "It isn't just me who suffers if I make the wrong choice."  
  
"I know it is not." His hand relaxed again, fingers curling around the back of her head. "I know what it is to hold the lives of others in my hands more than most. Being an assassin does not mean I take that responsibility lightly."  
  
"How do you shut yourself off to worrying about every possible consequence?"  
  
"By shutting down the pieces of yourself that give you compassion and hope," he said flatly. "By not allowing yourself to feel anything. We have discussed this before. All that I am, all that I was trained to be, has taught me to be cold and unfeeling. I would not be able to lead an army against a Blight." His fingers tightened around hers. "You are not as I was. As naive as I once thought you, you are capable of leading us to victory. It is your compassion that brought this army together, and your courage will lead us to victory, or to a glorious death."  
  
"That's reassuring," she muttered dryly, one corner of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.  
  
"As well it should be. You could easily have been the sort of general who would lead us to a muddy and disgraceful death in a swamp. Do not feel guilty for exploring as many options as become available to you."  
  
She nodded. "I couldn't guarantee that Alistair wouldn't have made the killing blow if I didn't ask him to take part in the ritual," she admitted slowly. "I wanted to save his life. It wasn't just about saving mine. And it could save Riordan, too."  
  
"Your goals, since I met you, have been a balance between seeing justice done and saving lives. That is not an easy balance to strike, as Wynne is ever so eager to point out," he said, the last with a slightly exasperated tone.  
  
"Oh, didn't I tell you? She approves of you now."  
  
"Hurrah, I'm so excited," he deadpanned, then grinned and brushed his nose against hers. "Perhaps I should leave our illustrious Grey Warden general to her well-deserved rest, hm?"  
  
"Don't you dare." She turned to nestle her face against his neck, breathing him in as deeply as she could. His arms moved around her, lips grazing the ridge of her ear. "Promise me that you'll be careful."  
  
"Or very lucky," he agreed, running his hands along her back. "I do have uncanny fortune, it seems."  
  
"Whatever it takes to keep you safe through this nightmare." She pressed a kiss under his ear, unsure if she imagined his shiver when her lips met the sensitive skin. "When this is over, will you show me Antiva?"  
  
He laughed, voice low. "Assuming that the Crows don't finish what the archdemon begins, you mean."  
  
"I mean, when we both survive this mess," she whispered, nuzzling his neck, "with our trophies from the archdemon itself."  
  
"Trophies, hm?"  
  
"After we kill it, I'm going to knock out a tooth and attach it to my staff."  
  
"Why not wear it as a necklace?"  
  
"Because with the exception of that obscenely expensive enchanted ring from Orzammar, I only wear things that are important to me."  
  
He tipped his head to press his lips to her earlobe, his earring winking in the firelight from the fresh piercing, still tender. "And a token from the archdemon is not important to you?"  
  
"Not in the same way. It'll be a warning, so it'll belong on my weapon. Doesn't have anything to do with my heart."  
  
He paused, lips brushing the warm skin around the piercing. "But this does," he murmured.  
  
"Yes, because you do."  
  
"It's going to take a while to get used to that," he said, voice rough.  
  
"Then I'll make sure to say it a few times every day until you're used to it." She turned her face to kiss him, and nothing more needed to be said.


	2. Ending the Blight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death of the archdemon, so... it's gross.

They were all covered in it, the heavy, pungent blood neither red nor black that oozed from the dragon's hide. Even after Zevran and Alistair had driven their blades into its head and the base of its neck, somehow the archdemon still rattled in a wheezing breath. Solona looked at Morrigan and saw the same exhaustion, knew that her mana was spent as well. Zevran shuddered as he forced himself up from where he'd fallen when the dragon had whipped its great head around, daggers nearby and covered in the same slick darkness that coated him up to his elbows. Alistair, on her other side, forced himself to one knee, Cailan's heavy armor and Duncan's shield trying to pull him back down to the ground to rest.  
  
The amulet was cold against her chest, the drop of blood from her Joining seeming to crawl through the metal and into her skin until her body thrummed with the force of her oath. Her eyes flicked to Morrigan again. What if the ritual had gone wrong? What if she wasn't with child at all, or something else had gone awry? It wasn't a chance she could take.  
  
Her eyes landed on Zevran again, and the agony that darkened his face made it clear that he knew what she was thinking. _I love you_ , she mouthed, then dropped her staff and reached for Duncan's sword where it was still strapped to her back. Every muscle in her body protested, and the song of the archdemon screamed in her ears as she forced herself to run.  
  
The blade bit into the scaled hide and sank deep, sending another spurt of hot blood gushing out and over her skin, and her hair. She ducked her head and closed her mouth to keep from swallowing the tainted blood, slipping and nearly shattering her knees as she fell to the stone under the weight of the dragon beginning to bear down on her. With a wordless scream, she forced herself forward, throwing her body against the sword and shoving it until the wet ripping sound brought the bile rising in her throat. The blood was everywhere now, choking her and stinging her eyes, but still she threw herself against it to shove it forward, ripping through the dragon as it shrieked.  
  
And then it was over. The heat of the blood quickly faded, leaving her shivering while the massive body fell to one side. The sword was nearly jerked out of her hands, and she went sprawling when she refused to let go of the pommel. She tumbled, was dragged as the archdemon thrashed about in its final death throes, and it was all she could do to keep from vomiting.  
  
Solona yanked at the blade several times, grunting with the effort, until it finally slid free of the viscera and muscle it had become embedded inside. The final tug sent her stumbling backward, and she landed on the ground hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. The sword skittered away as her hands hit the stone, arms shaking. Her eyes never left the archdemon, watching the great slitted eye for any signs of malevolent intelligence. It stared back, glassy and unresponsive.  
  
"You killed it," Alistair managed from somewhere behind her, voice hoarse. Solona couldn't bring herself to respond. She had to keep watching it. If she looked away, the eye might blink, the slitted pupil contract again, and then it would take them all.  
  
A pair of hands landed on her shoulders moments before Zevran collapsed to his knees behind her, groaning. "Solona," he managed, the strain in his voice from either pain or exhaustion made worse when she didn't respond the first time. “Solona."  
  
She blinked and turned her head, eyes wide and wild as they met his. “...we...won?"  
  
He nodded, panting. "It looks that way.”  
  
Her eyes moved over his leather armor, soaked in gore and ichor. "You're filthy.”  
  
Zevran blinked, then burst into exhausted laughter. "And you, my dear, have more blood on you than in you." He tugged her carefully backward, pressing his chest against her spine and resting his chin on her shoulder.  
  
"Do I?”  
  
"Mhm." His voice lowered. "Did you say what I think you said before you killed that beast?”  
  
"That I love you?" Her voice caught, and she forced herself to relax against him. "Yeah." His arms slid around her, and she laughed. "You're going to be covered in archdemon blood, Zev.”  
  
"So I am." His grip on her tightened. "This was the first time you said it.”  
  
She nodded. "Yeah, it was, and now that's how I'm going to remember today." She leaned back a little to look at him, the corners of her mouth turning up when she saw his smile.  
  
"Not as the day that you slew the archdemon?”  
  
"Oh, did that happen today, too?”  
  
His laughter eased a knot she hadn't known was still settled low in her belly. "We are both quite disgusting right now.”  
  
"We are." Her nose wrinkled. "Ugh, it's all in my hair…"  
  
Alistair made his way slowly toward them, a glowing blue vial in one gauntleted hand. "Would this help or make it worse?”  
  
Solona took the lyrium and flicked the cork off with her thumb. "I have no idea, but you could all use a little healing, I'm thinking. And Morrigan–" Solona turned, but the only people around them were the soldiers and the mages from Kinloch. "...Maker, she's... already?”  
  
Alistair turned. "How... She was just here!”  
  
"This is what she said would happen, no?" Zevran took the lyrium vial from Solona's hand and tipped it against her lips. "Come, drink it all. You will both be expected to make an appearance, perhaps give fabulous speeches.”  
  
"Ugh, spare me the speeches," Alistair groaned, and Zevran laughed as Solona choked down the lyrium potion.  
  
"Once we tell everyone who made the killing blow, I'm sure that some of the speeches will pass from you.”  
  
Solona winced. "Great. Any chance you want to take the credit, Alistair?”  
  
He grinned and shook his head. "Absolutely not.”  
  
How they managed to make their way back down to the ground, she wasn’t sure, but by the time they stood outside of Fort Drakon, most of the army had assembled. Before she could say anything, Alistair raised his hand, voice carrying admirably. “Solona Amell, vanquisher of the Fifth Blight, slayer of the archdemon, Hero of Ferelden!”  
  
“The Hero of Ferelden!” Some unknown voice took up the cry, and soon it was being repeated through the entire assembled army. Solona turned her head and stared at Alistair, who was grinning ear to ear.  
  
“Really?”  
  
He nodded, clearly pleased.  



	3. The Hero of Ferelden

“This way.” Zevran tilted his head before stepping back into the shadows, and Solona couldn’t keep the grin off of her face as she followed. The blue and silver dress didn’t exactly make slipping away unnoticed easy, but having an assassin’s help did mitigate that somewhat. His fingers brushed against her palm, sending electricity tingling along her skin.  
  
“Red looks good on you,” Solona murmured as she looked over his clothes, lips twitching when he placed his hand lightly over her mouth.  
  
“We cannot escape if you get us caught, my dear Warden,” he whispered, grin widening when he felt her smile against his hand. As one of the palace guards strolled through the corridor, Zevran tugged her closer and slipped behind a suit of armor on a stand, laying one finger across her lips as he pressed them both against the wall and deeper into the shadows. The tip of his nose brushed hers, his breath stirring the curls around her face, but they were both silent until the guard turned and continued his patrol down another hallway. “We must talk to Alistair about the security in this place,” he muttered. “This is an assassin’s dream.”  
  
“It’s not that bad,” Solona said, and Zevran raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I just stole the Hero of Ferelden away from her own party. Yes, it is that bad.”  
  
“I was a willing accomplice, to be fair. And don’t call me that.” She rolled her eyes as he laughed and stepped away, lacing his fingers with hers and leading her out from behind the armor.  
  
“You are not a fan of your new title?”  
  
“It’s sort of growing on me, but it still feels strange to have one at all.” She followed him into a small room filled with chests and weapon stands, snickering. “You’re going to seduce me on top of a crate of crossbow bolts, aren’t you?”  
  
“Hmm, there’s an idea.” He closed the door carefully behind her, listening for a moment, then grinned. “Sadly, no, that is not the first thing that came to mind. You simply looked… uncomfortable.”  
  
Solona perched on one of the chests and rubbed one of her eyes. “You could say that. Everything I say and do now reflects on the Circle on top of reflecting on the Grey Wardens, and Lord What’s-His-Beard was about three seconds away from getting his boots frozen to the floor.”  
  
Zevran laughed. “So I _did_ see you do that to someone yesterday! I feared that I had imagined it.”  
  
“No, I’ve been doing that since I was little. I used to freeze bits of templar armor to things whenever Anders or Neria or Jowan wanted to sneak somewhere.” Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. “I was a little uncomfortable, I guess. Even with this hero nonsense, people are still afraid of me as soon as they see me. It isn’t as overt when Alistair’s nearby because nobody wants to offend the king, but I’m still a mage. People still distrust me on sight. It gets old after a while.”  
  
“They have yet to know you,” he said gently, sitting beside her. “But, come, enough of the nobility and their insipid ignorance. I have something for you.”  
  
Solona smiled suddenly. “What sort of something would this be? Do we need to find a room with more floor space?”  
  
He laughed and shook his head. “Absolutely filthy. I am so pleased. But alas, no, that is not what I had in mind. Yet.” He slipped his fingers into his pocket and produced a small leather bag, grinning. “Open your hand.”  
  
She obeyed, delighted as he loosened the drawstrings and tipped a curved white fang into her waiting palm about the size of her forefinger. “Is this from the archdemon?”  
  
“Of course it is!”  
  
“You’ve been carrying a fang in your pocket all night? I thought you were just happy to see me.”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Terrible. It is one of the smaller ones, I admit, but I had little time before Alistair had begun to usher us to your waiting public, so I kicked the side of its head and this is the one that fell out. I believe it was knocked loose when it attempted to eat Alistair, which is a compliment to his armor.”  
  
“I can’t believe you actually stopped to get a tooth for me.” She turned it over in her hands, tracing the smooth curve up to a small hole drilled through the top. “This is so I can string it to something.”  
  
“Your staff, as I recall.”  
  
Solona leaned closer and pressed a smiling kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Zev.” She tapped the fang’s tip with one finger, then pressed her shoulder to his. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”  
  
“No, I am going to leave you alone in a closet while I fetch more wine,” he said dryly, expression growing more serious when she rolled her eyes. “Well, that is something we should discuss. With Taliesin dead, it will take the Crows some time to realize that I am not, but they will come for me eventually. They are like the tides: predictable.” He frowned. “Alistair has asked you to remain in Denerim?”  
  
She nodded, looking down at the archdemon fang. “I get the feeling that he’s eventually going to ask me to go to Amaranthine to rebuild the Wardens. For right now, I think he’s nervous about losing all of his friends and being left here trying to keep the peace between Eamon and Anora alone. He said that he wants me to be one of his advisors.”  
  
“And being an advisor to a king is nothing to sneeze at, my dear.”  
  
“So everyone says, especially Irving. It’ll be good for the mages.”  
  
Zevran wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his lips to her temple. “And enough of what others want. What is it that _you_ desire?”  
  
She relaxed against him and closed her eyes. “I don’t know. You have to understand, my life’s never really belonged to me until now.”  
  
“But does it now? Are you making decisions about who you shall be, or are these identities being placed upon you?”  
  
She sighed. “They’re being placed on me, but I don’t disagree with them.” She breathed in deeply, drawing in the scent of his skin. “But I don’t want to lose you, either.”  
  
“Then you shall not, for a time. I will remain as long as it is safe to do so.”  
  
Solona blinked and straightened so she could look at him. “Wait, really? Just like that?”  
  
He nodded. “Just like that. I am not terribly fond of the idea of losing you, either.” He drew her close again, both arms winding around her. “And someone needs to make adjustments to the security of this palace, if it can even be called security,” he muttered.


	4. Assassination Attempt

Solona’s eyes snapped open as a hand covered her mouth, but even when she saw that it was Zevran, she didn’t relax. He stared at her, one finger over his lips, and when she nodded, he removed his hand from her mouth and drew his daggers. She didn’t move, struggling to remain still beneath the light blanket as Zevran moved toward the window and all but disappeared in the darkness.  
  
She became all too aware of her breathing as she waited, straining to hear whatever had drawn Zevran out of bed in the dead of night. Gradually, she caught the sound; there was a faint scratching outside, metal against stone, and it was moving closer.  
  
Zevran’s outline was only visible because she knew exactly where to look, and he made a slight flicking motion with his wrist to emulate the gesture that allowed her to call frost and ice. With a few whispered words, Solona gathered the mana within her and emulated the hand motions Zevran had mimicked. A puff of white and blue just below their window was accompanied by a muffled cry, followed seconds later by a loud shattering crash. That was a body, she thought dully as Zevran crept toward the window, ducking to avoid the thin shaft of moonlight streaming in. A second body swung into the bedroom, and Zevran was on it instantly. Solona sat upright, fingers twitching out patterns in the air as she murmured the spell. The winking of his blades gained a whitish-blue tint as snowflakes coalesced and swirled around them.  
  
Below them, the confused alarm of the castle guards was growing louder. Someone had finally noticed one of the intruders, likely when they had fallen from the wall and shattered into a thousand shards of ice. Zevran, however, was near soundless as his blades drove deep into thick leather armor, and Solona had barely managed to gather the blanket around her and swing her legs over the edge of the bed by the time Zevran had the second intruder prone and gasping, blood pooling around Zevran’s bare feet.  
  
“Which master,” he hissed, one of the daggers pressing against the underside of the man’s chin until a thin red ribbon appeared.  
  
“Arainai,” he spat, and Zevran’s hand moved too quickly for Solona to follow in the dark. The dagger was just suddenly buried in the man’s chin nearly up to the hilt, and blood was pouring over Zevran’s fingers.  
  
“The Crows?” She didn’t need to ask, just as he didn’t need to nod and confirm her suspicions. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“No.” Zevran yanked the dagger free and wiped it clean on the man’s leathers, then stood and made his way to a small table with a water pitcher, which he used to fill the nearby silver bowl. “But I fear that my time in Ferelden is now at an end.”  
  
Solona opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again when the door to their bedchamber was thrown open and three guards rushed in. They paused, one of them clearing his throat, and Solona turned on the bed to face them, tucking the blanket under her armpits and folding her hands in her lap. “Would one of you care to explain how you allowed two assassins into the royal palace?”  
  
“Two…?” The guard in the middle, an older man with a scarred chin who looked as though he hadn’t chosen to stop shaving so much as he’d simply forgotten for a few days, peered around the bed to stare at the bloody corpse. “…ah. I see you’ve taken care of them both.”  
  
“Which should not be necessary,” Solona said cooly, and she gave the guard credit for not blinking at the fact that the Hero of Ferelden was addressing him wearing nothing but a blanket, while Zevran stood completely nude in front of the wash basin and calmly rinsed the blood from his hands and arms. “Aren’t we lucky that His Majesty is in Gwaren with Her Majesty?”  
  
The guard bowed low. “Forgive me, Lady Amell.”  
  
“Sweep the palace and the grounds.”  
  
“That will not be necessary,” Zevran said, voice oddly calm as he turned and strode toward the wardrobe. The other two guards turned their faces away, but the older guard looked up to meet Zevran’s eyes when he turned back to address him, linen underclothes in hand. “If there were additional assassins sent, they will be long gone by now, and you will not find them.”  
  
“You recognize them, ser?”  
  
“Antivan Crows,” Zevran said simply, stepping into the linens. “They were after me, not Lady Amell, nor the royal couple. My departure should ensure the safety of the palace once more, though I would caution you to double the night guard just in case.” He tossed Solona a robe, and the two younger guards turned around completely, both of their faces turning various shades of red.  
  
“Is there anything else you require, ser?”  
  
“One of those fine Ferelden horses would be quite nice, with whatever provisions can be gathered on short notice.”  
  
Solona tugged the robe down over her body as she stood, the gentle thrum of the lyrium and enchantments spreading warmth across her skin. “It’s Ser Alwyn, yes?”  
  
Alwyn looked up at her and nodded. “Yes, m’lady.”  
  
“Have Macha saddled, Ser Alwyn. She’s the swiftest mare left in the stables. I’ll explain the situation to Her Majesty when she returns.”  
  
Alwyn pressed a fist over his heart and bowed, then left as Zevran pulled a thin linen shirt over his head and moved toward the armor stand.  
  
“What happened to Winter?” Solona tried to keep the fear out of her voice as she looked for the mabari. “If they hurt him…”  
  
“Hm?” Zevran paused, leaning against the wall with one boot on, and shrugged. “Probably chasing whatever Crows came with these two. I would trust your dog more than the guard.”  
  
“He’s a good dog.” Solona watched him until he resumed pulling on his boots, then rubbed a hand over her mouth. “It didn’t take them long, did it?”  
  
“Truly, I was hoping for an attempt long before this. If they had been less patient, they might have been sloppy. I should know better.” He stopped and looked at her. “Not because I was hoping to leave you sooner, do not mistake my meaning.”  
  
She shook her head. “No, I understand.” It was suddenly cold in the room, colder than it had been mere minutes ago. “You could take Winter with you.”  
  
“I will travel more swiftly alone.”  
  
“I guess that’s a no to taking _me_ with you, then.”  
  
Zevran stopped buckling his armor into place and met her eyes. “No. We have discussed this.”  
  
“Yes, we have, and I thought it was a stupid decision when we discussed it before, too.” She sighed and circled around the bed to retrieve her staff, the familiar smooth dragonbone under her fingers doing as much to calm her nerves as the low rumble of magic that seemed to pulse from within it. “Mostly because not being able to help you feels idiotic to me, not because I doubt your skill.” She turned the staff between her fingers, more for something to do with her hands so that she didn’t start casting spells, but moving the staff also kept her magic from leaking out. Having a rational discussion when snowflakes floated around her hands or static electricity snapped between her fingers rarely happened.  
  
“ _Amor_ , let me know that you are safe. I will deal with the Crows once and for all, and when I know that they will not harm you to get to me, I will find you again.”  
  
“I’m not that easy to harm,” she said, glancing at the dead man on the floor beside the bed. “…I didn’t used to be.”  
  
“You should be allowed to feel safe after you have defeated a Blight. This is no failing of yours.”  
  
“If you hadn’t been here, I’d be dead.” She frowned, brows coming together. “…there’s no way two assassins got this far into the castle. This doesn’t make sense.”  
  
Zevran gestured toward the window. “I guarantee that there is a trail of bodies. This was no failing of the guard, either, much as I enjoy tweaking their noses.”  
  
“Why are they sending this many Crows after you? It doesn’t make sense. Spend all of these lives to kill one rogue assassin?”  
  
Zevran laughed humorlessly. “The Crows do not take betrayal well, and it cannot get out that they tried and failed to kill one of their own. Who would hire assassins who can’t kill one of the assassins they trained?” He tugged his gloves into place, and Solona’s voice softened.  
  
“Zev, get the enchanted ones.”  
  
He turned his hands as if inspecting the Dalish designs. “No, I am quite happy with these, but I thank you. They were given to me by a remarkable woman, you see.”  
  
Solona crossed the room to stand in front of him, resting her hands on his waist as his fell on her shoulders. She tipped her head forward so that their brows touched and drew in a shaking breath. “Zev…”  
  
He silenced her with a kiss, pulling her body tight against his. The buckles dug into her skin through the robes. “Sleep with the dog in your room from now on,” he mumbled against her mouth. “Every night.”  
  
Solona nodded, sliding her fingers into his hair and closing her eyes. “Write to me when it’s safe.”  
  
Zevran mumbled assent, kissing her again, then sighed. “The longer I put this off, the more difficult it becomes.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, hands cupping her cheeks, and she held his wrists.  
  
“I love you, Zevran.”  
  
He smiled against her skin, then kissed the tip of her nose. “And I you, _mi amore_.”  
  
Solona looked at her hands, then carefully worked a ring off of the middle finger of her left hand. The lyrium-infused silver had left a slight indent on her finger. She slipped it onto Zevran’s pinky, where it just fit. He frowned and looked at her questioningly. “Irving gave me that when I completed my Harrowing. You hold onto that. Remember that it’s a mage who loves you. A mage who will tear apart the Fade itself for you if you need me.”  
  
His smile spread so quickly across his face that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Point taken. I will let you know when I reach Antiva, and when it will be safe for you to travel. Then, if you wish it, we will take apart the Crows together.”  
  
She kissed him again, then followed him down to the stables. Alwyn stood beside the Queen’s favorite mare, a sleek black creature far too aggressive to ride in a royal party where other horses might get into reach of her teeth. Macha snorted and stamped one hoof against the ground as Alwyn tightened his grip on the reins.  
  
“You have about two weeks rations, ser, and this.” He held out a heavy black cloak, which Zevran immediately draped over his shoulders.  
  
“Thank you, my friend.”  
  
“Maker speed your steps, ser.”  
  
Zevran mounted the horse expertly, petting her neck and soothing her with low murmurs, then looked down at Solona. “You will travel to Amaranthine now, I expect.”  
  
 _Amaranthine_. She’d been putting it off for so long, wanting to spend every moment possible with Zevran before duty stole her away again. She nodded. “Write to me there, at Vigil’s Keep.”  
  
“Then, until we meet again, Arlessa.” He smiled at her, then nudged Macha’s ribs with his heels. The horse took off, and Solona watched until long after they’d passed out of her sight.


	5. Assault on the Vigil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence begins a bit here because hell no Solona and Anders are not meeting for the first time at Vigil's Keep. It will continue in the next chapter because... mabari.

By the time Solona was inside of Vigil’s Keep, she was already making a mental count of her available lyrium potions and watching Ser Mhairi carefully. “I’m going to need your help here,” she said gently, watching the recruit’s face light up at the thought. “Which means that we’ll both need to pace ourselves. We’re no good to anyone if we pass out, remember.”  
  
“Yes, Commander!” Mhairi nodded smartly, and they both jumped at a sound like a sudden small explosion. “What in the Maker’s name…?”  
  
“Don’t ask, just head toward the strange noises,” Solona said dryly. “Good philosophy in the Circle. Also works with Grey Wardens if you’ve got a shield up.”  
  
Mhairi actually smiled. “Yes, Commander.”  
  
Solona shook her head fondly and raced up the steps, immediately skidding to a halt when the flare of flames hissed and spluttered out. The mage blew on his fingers and shook his hands as the now charred genlock toppled to the floor, turning to face them with a shrug. “Uh… I didn’t do it.”  
  
Solona’s jaw dropped. “Anders?!”  
  
A wide smile broke over the mage’s face, and he opened his arms as she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. “It _is_ you!”  
  
“You’re alive,” Solona managed, voice thick as she squeezed him tightly, then pulled back to look at him. “You weren’t at the tower…”  
  
“Escaped just in time, looks like.” He grinned at her. “That makes _seven_ now. I think that’s a record.”  
  
“Maybe the templars will carve your name into the big doors.”  
  
“I was thinking a statue in the Great Hall,” Anders mused, lips twitching. He looked over Solona’s shoulder and waved merrily. “Hello. Anders the apostate, at your service.”  
  
“An apostate,” Mhairi began, frowning, and Solona shook her head.  
  
“None of that, nothing to fear. Anders and I have known each other for years. We were in the Circle together.” She peered around him at the bodies on the ground and raised her eyebrows when she saw templar armor. “…care to explain this? You’re not exactly making it easy for me to introduce you.”  
  
Anders glanced at the bodies and shrugged. “I know how it looks, but I didn’t do that. Not that I’m sorry to see them go, mind you. Biff there made the funniest gurgling sound…” He trailed off at Solona’s raised eyebrow, then sighed. “Look, you know how they are. Not _all_ of us had a favorite templar.”  
  
“You were attacked by the darkspawn,” Solona said, cutting him off before he could mention Cullen’s name.  
  
Anders nodded. “I’m not the one that killed them. Look at the bodies. No char marks. All blades. Those darkspawn bastards almost got me, too, before I got the manacles off. Biff had the key on his belt.”  
  
Solona shook her head again. “Was his name really Biff?”  
  
“Is that really important right now, Commander?” Mhairi’s voice had an edge of panic to it, and Solona sighed.  
  
“Right, I know.” She looked at Anders, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Want to help us clear the keep of the rest of the darkspawn? Maybe I’ll be able to use my oh so considerable influence to get you a reprieve from the tower.”  
  
“When you put it like that, how can I say no?” Anders extended his hand to Mhairi. “Nice to be working with you.”  
  
“A pleasure, ser mage. I am Mhairi.”  
  
Anders grinned and elbowed Solona. “It’s so odd to see you giving commands.”  
  
“If I’d become First Enchanter, I’d have been bossing you around,” she said amiably as they headed back toward the keep’s main gate.  
  
“You really would’ve been First Enchanter, wouldn’t you? You were swallowing all the nonsense they were feeding you.”  
  
“When I didn’t know any better, yes, I was.”  
  
There was a brief silence, then Anders’ voice was low. “How bad was it, Sol?”  
  
“Bad,” she said softly. “I saw Neria’s body. She never became an abomination. I was looking for yours.”  
  
He reached to take her hand and squeeze it. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Solona nodded, clinging to his hand, then glanced around. “Mhairi, how do we get this gate open?”  
  
She pointed. “Lever up those stairs.”  
  
As they moved toward the lever, Anders flicked her earring. “This is new.”  
  
A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, it is.”  
  
His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “There’s a story here.”  
  
“I’ll tell you when we finish with the darkspawn, but yes, there’s a story.”  
  
“You can’t leave it at that! That’s cruel!”  
  
“I know.” She gripped her staff more tightly and nodded toward the gate. “Ready?”  
  
“Destructive forces of nature, coming up!”  
  
Solona looked at Mhairi and nodded, beginning to prepare her spell as the knight tugged at the lever. A small band of darkspawn made up of hurlocks, genlocks, and possibly an emissary rushed through. Before anything more than a flare of mana could warm her fingertips, an oddly cheerful voice rang out.  
  
“Oh, we’re scared now! Don’t come over here!” A dwarf with twin braids at the ends of his mustache began to laugh as the darkspawn all turned toward him, cocking their heads to the side like confused birds. A second later, there was a flash of near blinding white and yellow light, and Solona had to close her eyes against bits of darkspawn bodies that flew from the site of the explosion.  
  
Solona wiped a hand across her face and looked at Mhairi. “Who in the Maker’s name was that madman, and how do we keep him on at the Keep?”  
  
“Dworkin, Commander,” she said, flicking charred bits of darkspawn off of her armor with a disgusted groan. “He’s… a bit mad.”  
  
“I like him.” She reached over to brush a bit of what could have been bone fragment off of Anders’ cheek and raised her eyebrows at him. “Fun hanging around me these days, isn’t it?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, this is _much_ better than sitting in the tower pretending to read.” He grinned. “I’m actually being serious this time.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “I missed you.”


	6. A Letter From Zevran

_Greetings from Antiva!_  
  
_I would prefer to be where you are, my sweet. Antiva is so dull without you to brighten it. Even with the Crows trying to hunt me down, this place lacks the excitement of being at your side. Ah, well. I expect the Guildmaster will agree to meet me soon. Or maybe I should kill him. What do you think?_  
  
_I hear the_ darkspawn _have still not gone away? They are like houseguests who overstay their welcome, no? I am saddened you have to deal with such business without me. I must deal with the Crows, but when I return to you, not even sharp razors will be able to separate us!_  
_Until then, you remain in my dreams. Especially the naughty ones._  
  
_Yours always,_

 _Z._  
  
“Commander?”  
  
Solona folded the parchment again and reached down, her fingertips brushing the top of the mabari’s head. “Yes, Varel?”  
  
“We’re ready.”  
  
She nodded and stood, patting her thigh. Winter looked up at her adoringly, his entire rear wiggling with happiness. “I missed you, too.”  
  
Varel smiled warmly at the mabari, presenting an open palm for the dog to sniff and then lick. “Kind of King Alistair to bring him.”  
  
“It was.”  
  
Varel’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Odd of you to leave him at the palace in the first place. Rumors say it was at the queen’s request?”  
  
“She didn’t request Winter, exactly, but since there aren’t really any other Grey Wardens in Ferelden except for me and the king, she was concerned that none of her people had any experience with darkspawn. Winter did.” She cleared her throat. “I also stole her favorite horse, so letting her borrow Winter while they were waiting on the rest of the soldiers to return from Gwaren was the least I could do.”  
  
“You… stole the queen’s horse, Commander?”  
  
“Yes, I did.” She blinked slowly at Varel. “Maybe a story I can tell after we get through this and get a chance to sit for more than ten minutes?”  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Of course.”  
  
The rest of their walk through the keep was quiet, and Solona couldn’t stop looking at the tapestries on the walls, the elegance of the furniture. It reminded her too much of the palace. _I don’t belong here._  
  
Solona took the Joining chalice from Varel, who had done all but the magical element of the preparations on his own. Solona had done much of it herself the first time, but it was easier to delegate certain things. Zevran’s letter, hand-delivered just moments after her visit to the dungeons, couldn’t wait, and it seemed to be burning a hole in the small pouch at her belt where she kept it.  
  
Her eyes met Nathaniel’s, and through the icy defiance, she thought she recognized something; he wanted to live, to prove to the rest of the world that his anger was justified and that the assumptions made of him were false. She almost looked at Anders, but instead kept her eyes on Nathaniel.  
  
“These words have been said since the first,” she said, still surprised that they rang so true, and that her voice sounded very much like what they called her now. She was Commander Amell here. Commander of the Grey. Leader of Ferelden’s Grey Wardens. _Maker make me worthy… Maker help me._ “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and one day, we shall join you.”  
  
“The moment of truth,” Nathaniel said softly, taking the chalice she handed him.  
  
“Nathaniel Howe, from this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.” Solona watched impassively as he raised the chalice to his lips, watched his throat work as he swallowed the blood, watched the steadiness of his hands as he handed the chalice back to her. He blinked, brow furrowing, and his eyes turned a strange milky white. Because she was watching for it, she could see the veins in his neck blacken for the briefest moment, saw the convulsion seize him, and saw the moment when his eyes cleared just before he lost consciousness.  
  
Varel knelt beside Nathaniel’s prone form and removed his gauntlet, touching the side of the man’s neck to feel for a pulse. “The Howe is stronger than I expected. For better or for worse, he will live.”  
  
Solona nodded, then looked up. Her eyes didn’t linger on Oghren or Anders, seeing both of their expressions shift slightly as they watched her. “Once he recovers, we go into Amaranthine to meet this merchant, and then it’s into the Wending Wood. Gather anything you need to prepare.” She nodded at Varel, who signaled for two soldiers to come hoist Nathaniel up and carry him to a nearby room where he could recover.  
  
“Letter from the elf?”  
  
Solona drew in a slow breath through her nose and met Oghren’s gaze. “You’re a nosy shit, you know that?”  
  
Anders’ brows shot up. “Who’s the elf?”  
  
“The Antivan who tried to kill her. They started rollin’ their oats.”  
  
Anders blinked. “They… what?”  
  
Oghren shook his head. “Polishing the footstones.”  
  
Solona rubbed her eyes. “Thank you, Oghren.”  
  
“Tapping the midnight still, if you will.”  
  
Anders pressed his lips together as Solona glared. “Oghren.”  
  
“Forging the moaning statue.”  
  
“ _Oghren_.”  
  
“Bucking the forbidden horse. Donning the—” Solona wrapped one of the braids of his mustache around her finger and gave it a sharp tug, and Oghren winced. “Ow! By the Stone, woman!”  
  
“Listen, you bucket of fully-marinated nug-spew,” Solona said, bringing her face close to his. “We are busy.”  
  
Oghren gave a rumbling laugh. “Lookit ‘er cheeks gettin’ all red.”  
  
Solona gave up, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Don’t ever change.”  
  
Anders waved his hand. “Um, hello there. Could we get back to the part where you’re apparently sleeping with an assassin?” He reached to flick Solona’s earring, but she grabbed his wrist before he could touch it. “Is that who gave you this?”  
  
“Yes, it is.” She let him go and sighed quietly. “It’s a long story.”  
  
Anders threw a companionable arm around her shoulder and steered her back into the keep. “Well, we have to wait for our newest recruit to wake, don’t we? I don’t have any pressing business, do you, Oghren?”  
  
Oghren belched, then reached for the flask at his hip. “Nope.”  
  
Solona wrinkled her nose. “That sounded wet. And you already know the story, you letch.”  
  
Oghren shrugged and took a long swig. “So?”  
  
“I wouldn’t mind hearing the story either, Commander,” came a voice from behind them, and Solona felt her cheeks burning as she turned to look at Varel. He gave her an innocent look. “So that I know which assassins to be wary of in the future, of course.”


	7. Last of the Legion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More canon divergence because there is no way Solona would limit herself to a party of four while going to investigate what is most likely a Deep Roads entrance.

_Greetings from Amaranthine._  
  
_I wish I knew that this letter would only pass through your hands, but alas, you’ll have to wait until our next rendezvous to learn all of the juicy details of my adventures. It turns out that those houseguests we discussed, the ones who overstayed their welcome, are really planning on setting themselves up comfortably in my new home. It’s shaping up to be quite a fight to get them to leave, and it’s different than my usual fights with inconsiderate houseguests. This is more like the fight from last year, only instead of arguing with one stubborn old beast, I may be arguing with two. Not as old, thank the Maker, but it looks like a mother and a father now who aren’t getting along and I’m being dragged into the middle._  
  
_Our old friend Oghren has come to join me, as has the friend from my childhood home who was missing, I’m sure you remember me mentioning him. I’ve also found someone much the same way that I found you, and while we aren’t growing quite as close as you and I did, I’m beginning to like him quite a bit. I didn’t get along with his father, though, who used to own the house I’m living in now, so I’m a bit surprised that we’re getting along as well as we are. My most recent_ houseguest _is… a bit prickly. I think she comes from a similar family as your mother did before you were born, so you can understand where some of the tension might be coming from. Especially with Oghren._  
  
_Oghren is not discreet. Or subtle. Or… well, he’s Oghren. I don’t have to tell you._  
  
_I’m trying to get the house cleaned for your next visit, but it looks like I’m going to have to venture down into the basement. You know how the basement frightens me, but I’m doing my best to work myself up to it._  
  
_Winter misses you. He’s taken your spot on the bed._  
  
_How’s the bird problem?_  
  
_Write soon._  
  
_Yours always,_  
  
_Sol_  
  
Tension gnawed at her belly, and she paused to lean against her new staff and take several deep breaths. Winter whined and leaned against her leg. She reached down to rub behind one of his ears, still gripping the staff until her knuckles whitened.  
  
The Deep Roads. There wasn’t anything she feared more than going down into the Deep Roads. Being underground was bad enough, and Zevran’d had to walk her through more than one restless, anxiety-ridden night in Orzammar when she’d been convinced that the entire city was going to collapse on them at any moment. The Deep Roads were everything she feared about being underground compounded with the stench of rot and darkspawn corruption.  
  
And broodmothers.  
  
She touched the archdemon fang where it dangled from one of the long volcanic aurum prongs holding the oblong gem in place. Spellfury had cost her nearly all of her remaining coin, but it had been worth the exorbitant price. The Tevinter script etched along the staff reading “yours is the fury of the elements” had been accurate, both due to the rush of mana given by the staff’s enchantments and by the skills she’d been studying.  
  
Ambassador Cera, the mage sent from Kinloch, had brought a tome with her that she’d remembered seeing in the First Enchanter’s office more than once, but which she’d been told was far beyond the skills of an apprentice. Well, having been named an archmage of Kinloch Hold, the skills of the Battlemage weren’t beyond her now. Between this and the Arcane Warrior skills whispered to her by the spirit trapped in the soul gem during the Blight, and the Spirit Healer skills Wynne had taught her, she was becoming increasingly difficult to kill.  
  
Maybe that would be enough to get her through the Deep Roads one more time.  
  
“Still with the deadly looks, my lady?”  
  
“‘My lady’ is such a human thing to call someone.”  
  
“It is a term of respect. You think it’s human to be respectful?”  
  
“Now you’re mocking me.”  
  
“I think you’re a lovely woman, and due some respect. So I call you a lady.”  
  
“Well… stop it!”  
  
Solona coughed to hide the laughter, and Anders shot her a cheeky grin. “Any day now,” she whispered, and he nodded delightedly.

"I wonder if she'll take his name. Velanna Howe. Do the Dalish take last names?"

"Don't let her hear you ask that question, Anders."  
  
Oghren leaned on his axe beside them and peered down into the chasm. “No question this goes down to the Deep Roads.”  
  
Her smile disappeared almost instantly. “I was hoping we were wrong.”  
  
Winter whined again, and Anders studied them both. “I can’t tell if you or the dog are more concerned about this.” He peeked into his bag. “Although, I’m starting to think I should have left Ser Pounce-a-lot back at the keep.”  
  
Solona shuddered. “I wish you could have left _me_ at the keep.”  
  
Velanna passed them, pointedly ignoring Nathaniel. “What sort of a Grey Warden is afraid of the Deep Roads?”  
  
“A woman who’s seen the broodmothers,” Solona said simply, meeting Velanna’s gaze as it slowly became more horrified.  
  
“…you don’t think Seranni…”  
  
Solona shook her head. “No. Whatever the Architect was using her for required her to become something… else.” She shivered, suddenly cold. “Let’s just get this over with.” As they reached the bottom of the chasm, at last, a strange scuffling sound reached their ears. Solona looked to Velanna. “Test your senses. How many darkspawn are ahead of us right now?”  
  
Velanna paused, eyes unfocusing for a moment. “…three…four…five of them.”  
  
Solona nodded, gripping Spellfury more comfortably. “Good. Spells and weapons at the ready. Winter, not until I say,” she added, and the dog huffed in acknowledgment.  
  
They moved forward, and as they rounded a corner, they saw five darkspawn. One of them, a hurlock alpha from the looks of it, was dragging a dwarven woman in armor that Solona immediately recognized.  
  
“Legion of the Dead,” Oghren murmured.  
  
The woman kicked herself free of the hurlock’s grip and readied her weapons, her tattooed face a mask of fury beneath her helmet.  
  
“Odds aren’t looking so good,” Solona called, gathering mana around Spellfury’s crowning gem. Electricity crackled, and the woman turned to stare at them. Relief flooded her eyes. Solona kept her gaze locked on the hurlock. “You should run.”  
  
The darkspawn rushed at them, and all four were cut down within minutes. Her electricity and Anders’ fireball took down one, Winter pounced on a second while Oghren hacked at a third, and Velanna called vines from nowhere to hold the fourth in place as Nathaniel’s arrows buried themselves in its forehead. The woman rushed at the fifth, blades flashing. Solona raised Spellweaver and sent a blast of cold toward the hurlock alpha, freezing it solid as the dwarven woman slammed one of her blades against its head. It shattered, and she turned to look at Solona with wide eyes and a smile.  
  
“Well… that was… close. For a moment there, I thought I was _really_ about to join the Legion of the Dead.”  
  
“Are you all right?” Solona was already looking to Anders. “We’ve two healers among us.”  
  
“I might’ve cracked a rib, but it’s hard to be sure.”  
  
“On it.” Anders stepped forward, giving her a disarming smile. “All you need to do is stand there. Let’s see what we can do.” He moved his hand through the air, hovering over her armor as it glowed with a faint blue light.  
  
“I should probably go back,” the woman said, her voice losing some of its strain as the healing magic began to work. “Foolish as that sounds. See if there’s anything I can do.”  
  
Dread settled in Solona’s chest. “Back where?”  
  
“The old fortress at Kal’Hirol. There’s something going on there. I think the dark spawn are breeding an army. The Legion went to investigate, but Kal’Hirol proved too much for us. It was a massacre, and now I’m… I’m the only one left.”  
  
“You aren’t alone now,” Nathaniel said, and Oghren grunted in agreement.  
  
“Always wanted to see ol’ Kal’Hirol.”  
  
“Now’s your chance,” Solona said, ignoring the chills surging through her body. “I’m Solona Amell, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. These are my companions.” She introduced them each in turn.  
  
She grinned brightly. “Ah, that’s convenient. The ancestors must’ve had a hand in this.”  
  
“Or they’ve got a sense of humor,” Oghren said, reaching for his flask. “Can’t get away from the sodding Deep Roads no matter how much time I spend on the surface.”  
  
“I’m Sigrun,” the woman said, her smile widening. “Safety in numbers, right? Now, destroying this darkspawn nest isn’t impossible, merely improbable!”  
  
Anders blinked at her, then looked at Solona. “Oh. An optimist, then,” he deadpanned.  
  
“Optimism is a good thing.” Solona felt her face slipping into the usual calm, confident lines of the Commander, and she pushed her fear deeper down. There would be time to panic later, _after_ Kal’Hirol. “To the darkspawn, then.”


	8. What Is Built Endures

As Solona leaned back against Anders, his arm instantly moving around her shoulders, Oghren sat up straighter and waved his hand. "All right, I gotta ask. You two...?"  
  
Anders raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I forgot, the drunk is a prude."  
  
Sigrun snorted, then schooled her face into impassive lines as Oghren grunted. "I ain't a prude, but there's an Antivan who's gonna be mighty put out if you're takin' up his spot on the bed, sparkle-fingers."  
  
Solona shook her head. "Oghren, you know I love you, but enough already."  
  
"What?"  
  
"There's a lot you can make fun of Anders about. Lay off the sparkles." She nodded seriously. "I mean it. There's a lot. There was the time wh-mmph!" She laughed as Anders clapped a hand over her mouth.  
  
"I am curious about that, as well." Velanna waved dismissively at Anders. "Not about your sparkles. But you two are much more... Affectionate than most humans I've met."  
  
Nathaniel smiled slightly. "Well, they have known each other for a long time."  
  
"We have, " Solona agreed, pulling Anders' hand away from her mouth. "But I think it's a Circle thing. I remember being really shocked during the Blight by how difficult it seemed for people to just be close to each other." She looked at Oghren. "Remember when Zevran asked you for a hug?"  
  
"He didn't just offer to hug me," Oghren muttered, but there was no bite to his words. "Figured it was just some Antivan perversion."  
  
"Okay, Zevran is a bad example." Solona laughed and shook her head. "Alistair and I talked about it."  
  
"King Alistair?" Sigrun grinned. "Oh, I want stories about him, too."  
  
"I have plenty," Solona said with a grin. "But before he was recruited into the Grey Wardens, Alistair was being trained as a templar, so he'd spent time around Circle mages. We're more physically affectionate than most people."  
  
"Didn't I tell you the robes were all about easy access?" Anders looked at Oghren with a serious expression. "And you thought I was pulling your leg."  
  
Oghren gave a raspy laugh. "Just one big orgy in those towers, huh? No wonder you went for the Antivan."  
  
Solona snickered. "Well, sometimes, sure, but that isn't what I'm getting at. Circle mages don't live like the rest of Thedas."  
  
"That's putting it mildly," Anders added, bitterness darkening his voice. "Most of us are taken when we're children. I was old enough to remember my family and try to get back to them a few times. Solona probably doesn't even remember hers. She was four."  
  
Sigrun and Velanna stared, but Sigrun spoke up first. "You were taken away from your family when you were _four?_ "  
  
"Your magic manifested that young?" Velanna, in sharp contrast to Sigrun's horror, looked impressed.  
  
"Magic ruined her entire family," Anders said, shifting to nudge Solona in the ribs. "Brought down the mighty Amell house of Kirkwall."  
  
Nathaniel nodded. "I wondered if that was your family, but I didn't want to ask." He turned to Velanna and Sigrun, who both looked confused. "The Amell family once ruled Kirkwall, one of the city-states in the Free Marches, to the north. The family fell into disgrace because so many mages were born into the family."  
  
"And because my mother and her cousin decided to have children with apostates, don't forget," Solona added with a shrug. "Aunt Leandra actually married hers. Hawke, I think his name was. My mother just kept meeting my father in secret. He came to visit, and she'd be with child again. When my older brother started showing signs of magic, one of the other nobles in the city called in the templars to take him away, and they took me just to be on the safe side. I was sent to a Chantry orphanage in Ferelden in the event that I showed magical abilities."  
  
"How old was your brother," Sigrun breathed.  
  
"Seven. My mother was with child at the time, and we had two younger siblings. Twins, a year old. I wouldn't be surprised if the twins turned out to be mages, too. But they split me and Daylen apart. Separating families was pretty standard."  
  
"I think I remembered hearing that there was an Amell in Ostwick," Nathaniel said helpfully. "None in the Gallows in Kirkwall, so that's something."  
  
Velanna shook her head. "The Dalish will often separate mage children from their birth families, but that's for the safety of the entire clan, so that it's more difficult for the human templars to find us, and so that each clan can ultimately have a Keeper. Keepers are always mages."  
  
Solona nodded. "I remember seeing an elven mage once in Kinloch Hold who never said which alienage she'd come from, and we all just assumed that she was Dalish."  
  
"It is likely." Velanna's tone sharpened. "Why would the humans leave our people alone?"  
  
"Why would the Chantry leave _mages_ alone," Anders corrected. "It isn't just a human to elf problem, Velanna.”  
  
Solona’s attention began to drift, and she didn’t realize that she’d cut the others off until she spoke. “Nathaniel, what happened to the Hawkes?” She met his eyes with a steady, unflinching agony. Her family had been stolen from her before she was old enough to understand why that was so grave a sin, but maybe… “No one’s kept track of the Amells, but what about the Hawkes?”  
  
Nathaniel frowned and rubbed his jaw. “I can’t be sure. They said that Leandra Amell and Malcolm Hawke ran to Ferelden to escape the templars.”Solona leaned forward and felt Anders’ hand gripping hers. “Where in Ferelden?”  
  
Nathaniel paused, studying her face. “I don’t know,” he said at last, and she shook her head.  
  
“Yes, you do, don’t you?”  
  
He pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. “The last I’d heard, which was years ago, was that they went to Lothering.”  
  
Solona’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Anders squeezed her hand, but when she didn’t respond, he looked at Sigrun and Velanna. “Lothering was destroyed during the Blight.”  
  
Oghren’s jaw tensed visibly under his beard. “They were in Lothering, sparkle-fingers.”  
  
Anders let go of her hand. “…oh, Maker…”  
  
Solona shook herself and closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath through her nose. “That doesn’t mean anything. Lothering was evacuating by the time we left. They might have made it to Denerim. There’s no way to know.” Sigrun’s eyes softened, but Solona turned her attention to the campfire. “We’re running low on wood, and it’ll be dark soon.” She whistled, and Winter jumped up, tail wagging, and trotted to her side.  
  
“Solona,” Anders began, but Oghren stopped him with a look.  
  
“Let her go,” she heard him say as she headed away from their campsite with Winter close beside her, occasionally licking her fingers. “She’s had enough loss to know how to deal with it. Don’t interfere.”  
  
“The last time, Zevran was here,” Solona whispered, looking down at Winter. The mabari whined and shoved his nose into her palm.


	9. Shadows of the Blackmarsh

Frost spun slowly around her fingers, jumping when the thin lines of electricity crackled and sparked. Solona held the eyes of the Baroness and forced herself to remain still as the human facade began to crack around the edges. A shriek that was only an echo of lost humanity tore through the air. Beside her, Anders and Nathaniel steadied themselves, the former just as unnerved by the pride demon ripping itself from the host body as the latter, though she knew that he’d seen worse during his own Harrowing. But that had been in the Fade.  
  
But the being beside her… not Fade spirit, not Kristoff, but something else, something new and frightening… Justice hefted a sword that it had not created itself, and it was not afraid.  
  
Solona concentrated as the pride demon rose, towering above them all with a deep, ethereal laugh. Fire licked down her fingers even as the snowflakes spun faster around them and little tongues of lightning snapped at the air. Her focused sharpened, and all she could hear was the howling of the wind around her, agitated and unsure which of the coming storms was whipping it into a fury.  
  
“Anders,” she heard herself say as though from a distance, “focus on healing. Nate, don’t get too close.” She turned to look at Justice, who was staring at her with an uncertain expression she couldn’t read through the beginnings of decay in Kristoff’s face. “The demon dies, or we do. There’s no middle ground.”  
  
“Agreed.” The voice was Justice, and not Justice, all at once.  
  
Solona crouched down and dug her fingers into the soil, the fire and snow and lightning shooting deep into the earth and making it tremble. The pride demon took a step, then stumbled and fell as Solona poured more power into the ground. Justice ran at it, hacking and stabbing with a finesse that surpassed any ability of the living. Arrows rained down on the demon, some of them finding purchase in the thick hide. Waves of cold flashed over the demon from Anders’ staff, but the moment that Justice took a claw jab to the side, cool blue healing energy radiated from him.  
  
She loosened her grip on the dirt and stood, raising her hands to the sky and waving them slowly, coaxing the clouds to come together above them. The wind increased, alternately scalding and frigid as ice stabbed downward at the demon while massive droplets of flame and flashes of lighting shot toward it. Maintaining the four spells simultaneously dragged at Solona’s reserves of mana, but she closed her eyes and reached into the air for more. A sudden flash of cold swept across the ground, and for a few seconds, the demon stood rigid before them, coated in frost. Justice slammed its shield into the demon’s outstretched claw, and it shattered and fell to the ground. When the ice thawed mere seconds later, the demon screamed, black ichor hissing out of the wound and smearing across the shield. Solona reached behind her back for Spellfury and shot another blast of cold, but the other spells had taken too much from her. The remaining clawed hand swiped forward, knocking Solona off her feet. Her face ached as it made contact with the ground. She shoved herself to her hands and knees, reaching for the staff that had skittered away. When her fingers closed around it and she turned, her stomach dropped. The demon had grabbed Nathaniel and hefted him into the air, and appeared to be sucking the life force through the air in a stream of light from his body to its mouth.  
  
“ _Nate!_ ” Solona used the staff to pull herself to her feet, leaning on it like an old woman. Anders had both hands in the air, sending as much healing energy into Nathaniel as the demon seemed to be drawing out of him. Dark hollows were beginning to form under the mage’s eyes already. She looked around for Justice and saw Kristoff’s broken body sprawled on the ground. It startled her to note that there was no blood, until she remembered that there wouldn’t be. The body was already dead.  
  
Solona grabbed for a flask of lyrium at her belt, downing the glowing blue liquid and gagging at the sudden rush of power. Some dirt still clung to her hand, and Solona made a fist in the air and punched forward. A fist of stone formed in the air and landed solidly in the demon’s face. It dropped Nathaniel, who collapsed at its feet and clutched his throat. She tossed a vial of lyrium to Anders and continued her assault on the demon, just barely managing to dodge the incoming attacks. She thought of Zevran, and his insistence during the Blight that even a mage needed to know how to jump out of the way, but especially one who seemed to enjoy being in the thick of battle so much without even the common sense of some leather armor.  
  
Justice rolled over, and a flash of healing light streaked past Solona to hit the body. She couldn’t stop to check on the spirit, couldn’t pause to verify that Nathaniel lived. She only had eyes for the demon.  
  
_Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end._  
  
Solona spun to avoid a foot that would have come crashing down on her and shot an arcane bolt upwards into the beast’s jaw. The demon staggered backward with a gurgle as its jaw exploded, stumbled into a section of stone wall, and crashed into the ground. Solona hurriedly wiped the black ichor from her cheek with a sleeve, wincing as the burn already began to redden her skin.  
  
“Don’t touch it, let me see.” Anders gently pried her hands away from her face to examine the skin, and she shuddered when he passed a hand over her cheek. The tingle of magic eased the pain to a slight stinging sensation, and she turned her head to look him over.  
  
“You look like shit, healer,” she managed.  
  
“So do you, Commander,” he replied, laughing and rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Remind me to avoid haunted swamps.”  
  
“That shouldn’t be a reminder we need.”  
  
“No, but I’m under your command, so it is.” He put an arm around her shoulders, and she slid hers around his waist. “Which one of us is holding the other up?”  
  
“I haven’t a clue,” Solona said dryly as Nathaniel walked stiffly toward them. “Looks like you ended up saving the Blackmarsh, Lord Howe.”  
  
A little boy’s grin flashed briefly across his face before he nodded toward Justice. “What are we doing with him?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she replied, leaning heavily on her staff again. “Justice. Are you all right?”  
  
“It appears I cannot return to the Fade,” Justice said, turning Kristoff’s milky eyes on her. “I am trapped here, in this body of this… Grey Warden?” The eyes moved oddly in their sockets, turning to each of them. She felt Anders shiver beside her. “There are memories in this poor man’s mind. They are difficult to see, but… he was a Grey Warden? He was… slain by the darkspawn… the one called The First?” Justice looked at her again. “And that was your pursuit when you were tricked into the Fade! Yes! I understand now!”  
  
“That’s just unnerving,” Nathaniel whispered.  
  
“It seems I am at a loss,” Justice said, shrugging, and the armor clanked on the desiccated shoulders. “I know nothing of this world, and have only a few memories of this Grey Warden to draw from. I do not wish to die. What shall I do, Commander Amell? You seem to be a creature of good character, and you are of this world. Can you advise me?”  
  
Solona straightened, pulling away from Anders and forcing herself to stand without aid. “You could join us. If you’re going to live in this world, you can still follow your purpose.”  
  
“You mean, continue Kristoff’s mission as a Grey Warden?” Justice studied her for a moment. “It was a darkspawn who murdered this man most ignobly…”  
  
“Darkspawn threaten all life in this world,” Solona said quietly. “And there are more injustices beyond even that, though they aren’t as immediate a threat as the darkspawn. We could use your help, and I’d be honored to have a spirit of Justice at our side.”  
  
Justice nodded, and Anders smiled wide. “Welcome to the world, spirit.” A muffled sound came from his pack, and before he could do anything, Solona reached out and tugged the pack open. A small furry head popped up, and Ser Pounce-A-Lot meowed loudly, baring his little fangs. Solona stared at Anders.  
  
“You brought your cat to a haunted marsh?”  
  
“Well, I wasn’t going to leave him with Oghren!”


	10. The Awakening

Nathaniel stood atop a pile of rubble that had once been part of the wall of the Vigil, knuckles whitening on the bow. His grandfather’s bow. Returned to him by the Warden. She had to come back. It wasn’t an option.  
  
They all had to come back.  
  
She’d taken Sigrun, the cheerful little monster, as well as Velanna and Justice. They’d all been given the chance to avenge the fallen. But she had left him behind, under Oghren’s command. “Protect your people,” she’d told him. “Show them that a Howe will always protect the Vigil.”  
  
“She’ll come back,” his de facto commander grumbled, leaning heavily on a battle-axe so slick with blood it was amazing the dwarf didn’t slip and fall onto his face. He peered at Nathaniel from under bushy eyebrows sticky with gore and grit. “Ain’t a thing on this sodding world can keep that woman from walking off the battlefield.”  
  
“I know,” he replied, voice not as sharp as he intended due to sheer exhaustion. “Someone has to restore this place.”  
  
“Yeah, you.” Oghren snorted. “You still don’t get the Commander, do ya, boy?”  
  
Nathaniel wanted to snap that he was hardly a boy, but he bit his tongue.  
  
Oghren sighed, putting more weight no the axe as he rotated one of his ankles and winced. “Listen, the Commander… she’s got this magic that ain’t taught in any Circle. The kind of magic that makes a Paragon. She can see into people. The more broken they are, the more she sees. And she doesn’t just see the broken pieces, but she doesn’t ignore ‘em, either. Why d’ya think she left me in command? Again?” He laughed when Nathaniel’s eyes widened.  
  
“What do you mean, again?”  
  
“She left me in command of the gates of Denim when she and the king went to go kill the sodding archdemon. She didn’t see the drunk old fool. She saw the warrior I used to be. The warrior I could be, would be if she told me to be.” He nods, eyes drifting to the smoking horizon. “You really think she’s planning on staying in this nughole forever when there’s an even more messed up nughole with that elf o’ hers just waiting to be explored?”  
  
“She’s not going to leave Amaranthine,” Nathaniel protested. “There’s never been a mage arlessa in Ferelden, let alone a Grey Warden.”  
  
“She ain’t going to leave right away, but she will, sure as a bronto shits in the Deep Roads.”  
  
“That’s a lovely image.”  
  
“Ain’t it just.” Oghren’s voice suddenly warms. “What’d I tell ya?” He nods, and Nathaniel’s head snaps up. “Oy, Commander!”  
  
A figure slowly raised a staff in the distance, then dropped it quickly back to the ground and leaned on it. The red hair became more distinct as the little party approached the rubble they were standing on, and Nathaniel was struck with a sudden urge to rush forward, to scoop her in his arms as he had done Delilah when they were small, but he held himself firm with his chin raised. His expression didn’t chance when he saw their features more clearly. Even Sigrun looked shaken, though she was smiling even still. Velanna’s anger was… different somehow, colder as she looked in the Commander’s general direction. Justice alone seemed unbothered, or as unbothered as a decaying body could look.  
  
When Solona met Nathaniel’s eyes, he had to stop himself from reaching out to her. The bruises beneath them would take many nights of uninterrupted sleep to heal, and one look at her face said that those would be few and far between. “The Architect,” he began.  
  
“Dead, as is the Mother.” Solona kept her eyes fixed on him, deliberately and obviously ignoring the reply Velanna was clearly struggling to bite back. “Report on the Vigil.”  
  
“We’ve some casualties, but the Vigil held. The Wardens are still alive. All of us, somehow. We weren’t sure about Anders for a while, but we found him under some rubble.”  
  
“Kid won’t die,” Oghren said, and Solona wearily turned her attention to him. “He’s working on the worst of the injuries here. We cleared the city of darkspawn and came back here, Commander. We won.”  
  
“Yes, we did.” Solona’s eyes moved to Nathaniel again. “Yours needs to be the face the people see. Especially your sister. You have leave to go to Amaranthine, offer whatever services we can. Once I’m able to assess the situation here, I’ll bring Anders to tend to the wounded.” She turned to Oghren. “How many casualties?”  
  
“Not a lot, considering.”  
  
“How many?”  
  
Oghren shook his head. “Twenty-six in the Keep, thirty in the city that we know about. Probably more once we clear the rubble. For the scale of the fighting, those are good numbers.”  
  
“That’s fifty-six too many.”  
  
Oghren removed a skin of some sort from his belt, causing Nathaniel’s eyes to widen in what was probably closer to amusement than disgust when he guessed the contents. He handed it to Solona, and she took a small sip, more out of courtesy than anything. “You did your best by us, Commander. Nobody can ask for more than that.” He watched her for a few moments, then grinned. “You got a good story to tell your elf.”  
  
Solona couldn’t help smiling at that. “It’s going to make his assassins seem boring.”  
  
“That’s for sodding sure. By the Stone, woman, sit down, you look like a strong fart would knock you over.”  
  
This time, Nathaniel did step forward, and his arm moved easily around her waist. He noticed abruptly how thin she was and looked her over, really studying her. She turned her head to meet his eyes, then frowned. “What?”  
  
“It strikes me how small you are,” he said, his lips curling upward in a small, affectionate smile. “You seem so much larger than life.”  
  
She snorted a laugh and took a longer, more earnest pull from the skin, then handed it back to Oghren and leaned on Nathaniel as Sigrun and Velanna joined Oghren, the former chattering happily about the battle while the latter remained stubbornly silent. Justice trailed quietly behind them.  
  
“Why is Velanna so…”  
  
“…so Velanna, but more than usual?” Solona’s gaze darkened slightly. “I was foolish. I let the Architect speak, and I shouldn’t have. She wanted to spare him for her sister’s sake.”  
  
Nathaniel tore his eyes from Velanna and looked at Solona. “Is her sister…”  
  
“I don’t know. None of us do. I wouldn’t be surprised if Velanna leaves us one day to look for her, and goes to her Calling early.” Solona sighed through her nose. “I should be used to this by now.”  
  
“Used to what?”  
  
“Not being able to save everyone.”  
  
Nathaniel hugged her gently, just for the briefest moment. “We have to be willing to save ourselves.”  
  
Solona stopped, and Nathaniel stopped, alarmed in case she was more injured than he’d thought. “And are you, Lord Howe?”  
  
He frowned and blinked. “Am I what?”  
  
“Ready to save yourself.”  
  
His brows came together. When she didn’t speak, he licked his lips and nodded. “Yes, I’m ready.”  
  
“Good. Because Amaranthine needs an arl.”  
  
He froze, and it took him several seconds to speak. “It has an arlessa, my lady.”  
  
“Yes, it does, for the time being. And no, this isn’t a marriage proposal.”  
  
“Good, considering that your lover is an Antivan Crow. I value my head still attached to my neck.”  
  
“Oh, he’d poison you, not decapitate you,” she said blithely, waving a hand.  
  
“How comforting,” he said dryly. “But you’re not leaving Amaranthine yet.”  
  
“No.” She shook her head and continued walking, and he put his arm around her again. “Not yet, anyway. I won’t leave until the city and the keep are rebuilt, that I can promise you.”  
  
“Good. The people wouldn’t let you, even if I didn’t intend to stop you before you left the keep.”  
  
She smiled. “I’m noble born, but I haven’t really ever been a noble. I like being able to throw my weight around if it means I can do something to help the people, or protect apostates, but I have duties to the Wardens as well.” Her voice softens until he has to duck his head to hear her. “I intend to find a cure. After what we’ve seen here… the rules aren’t the same as they were during the first Blight. I won’t condemn you all to the Calling if there’s anything I can do to stop it. And, honestly, I’m not condemning myself.”  
  
“You do have all of Antiva to explore,” he says, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“I do.”  
  
“You know, my lady Commander,” he says, eyes brightening. “If you were to disappear into the keep for a little while to compose a letter, I’m sure Oghren and I could handle everything out here. He would make a fine Constable of the Grey, I must admit.”  
  
Solona grinned. “He would, wouldn’t he?”


	11. Flawed Security

The farmlands suffered, and the dead numbered far greater than fifty-six, but before six months had passed, there was genuine laughter in the small little tavern halfway between Vigil’s Keep and the city of Amaranthine. Though no Crown and Lion, the Griffon’s Wing was a merry little place that afternoon as a group of fairly wobbly regulars loudly sang verse after verse of a bawdy song featuring the arlessa and the arl. Solona nearly snorted ale up her nose, and Nathaniel actually choked on his. “I still feel we should stop that,” he said at last, voice slightly hoarse, and Solona laughed again.  
  
“Don’t you dare. I didn’t know that it was my dream to have a bawdy tavern song written about me until it happened, and I’ll be damned if you take that away from me, Lord Howe.”  
  
“But it also features me, Lady Amell,” he said, struggling in vain to keep the amusement out of his eyes. “They’ve added another verse. It’s getting cumbersome.”  
  
“”You’re just worried it’s going to make its way to Antiva.”  
  
“Of course I am. I’m not hiding that.” Nathaniel took another long sip of ale, hiding his mouth in his tankard. “The queen sent her regrets that she won’t be able to visit us.”  
  
“I just bet she did,” Solona murmured, then raised an eyebrow. “Alistair is still coming, though.”  
  
“Yes, the king still intends to arrive next week, according to the last raven.” Nathaniel actually relaxed back into his chair. “It’ll do the people good to see their king.”  
  
“And it’ll do the king good to get out of Denerim for a while.” She sighed and swirled the ale in her tankard. “Well, I’ll say this for Fereldens. We’re getting very good at rebuilding after darkspawn attacks.”  
  
“A skill I hope we won’t need again in the near future.” He drains his tankard, then relaxes to listen to the group of impromptu singers warble a ballad about a Howe whose first name she couldn’t quite catch. Nathaniel’s voice softened. “You know, six months ago, they wouldn’t be singing about a Howe.”  
  
“I’d say you’ve done a good job reminding the people of the good in your family name.” Solona smiled gently. “Give Delilah a kiss for me. I’m going to head back to the Vigil.”  
  
“She’s going to be disappointed that you aren’t staying for supper. And you aren’t going to arrive back before midnight.”  
  
“I know. I also very desperately need my own bed,” she laughed softly, placing a few coins on the table and pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll see you back at the Keep by week’s end?” He nodded, and Solona clapped her hand gently on his shoulder before making her way toward the door.  
  
It was indeed well past midnight, and had been for two hours, when Solona finally made it back to the Vigil. She only just managed to hide her disappointment when she found that there was still no letter from Antiva, and she peeked into her chamber with a yawn. “Winter? Where are you, love?” She draped her long cloak over the back of a chair, only half scanning the room for the mabari who should have been snoring at the foot of her bed by now. “If Oghren got you drunk, I’m gonna…” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as another yawn overtook her, and in the few moments before her eyes closed, she noticed the open window. Her yawn masked the sudden jump in adrenaline, and she used her right hand to scratch her lower back. Her fingertips brushed against the hilt of the little dagger, and she gathered her focus to channel mana to her left palm as she closed her fingers around it.  
  
The blade was cold against her throat, flat and deceptively harmless. She could feel no other contact with whoever was in the room. There was a slight rustle of fabric, and her own knife turned and pressed into the belly of the person who stepped closer to her, the tip angled upward toward the chest that leaned ever so slightly against her back.  
  
“I’m afraid that your security is quite lacking,” a voice purred next to her ear, and the mana in her palm sparked into electricity that arced from her fingers back to the hood of the figure behind her.  
  
“You’re going to tell me where my dog is,” she murmured, perfectly still save for the slight movement of her fingers to keep the magic moving. The knife turned slightly against her neck.  
  
“And why would I tell you that?”  
  
Solona moved her right hand, the point of the little dagger digging against leather armor. “Because Fereldens like their dogs.”  
  
The man behind her laughed, dropping his head forward until it rested comfortably on her shoulder. “I am pleased to see you as deadly as ever, mi amor.”  
  
“Well, you know how it is, fending off my many enemies.” Solona relaxed, the mana dissipating as she loosened her hold on the dagger, turning the point away toward the floor as Zevran’s arms moved around her. “Only you would find a blade to your belly an invitation for a cuddle.”  
  
“You do know the way to a man’s heart.”  
  
“Yes, right under the rib cage.”  
  
“Exactly!”  
  
Her head tipped back, and she breathed in deeply. He smelled of spices, and the sea, and freshly oiled knives. “Maker’s breath, I missed you.”  
  
Zevran carefully took the knife from her hand and sheathed it again at the small of her back, sheathed his own, then wrapped both arms tightly around her from behind. “And I you, my dear Warden. You have been busy.”  
  
“So have you. Is Antiva more or less stabby than when you arrived?”  
  
He laughed again, the sound rumbling through her body like thunder. “A little of both at once, depending on who you ask.” He pressed a series of kisses to her shoulder, voice softening. “And what is this I hear about an arl Howe ruling with my arlessa, and doing all manner of naughty things?”  
  
“I feel like my success is measurable by how filthy that song gets,” she says, laughing gently and hugging his arms. “I made Nate an arl so the transition will be smooth when I decide to leave, and I assure you that my bed and the other assorted surfaces mentioned in that song have been quite devoid of adventure, thank you very much.”  
  
Zevran sighed, nosing under her ear. “More’s the pity. I hear he is quite handsome.” His lips brushed the earring gently. “And your dog, before you lose your temper, my feisty little mage, is quite stuffed with venison and sleeping outside near the stables.”  
  
“You got the dog to give us privacy?”  
  
“What can I say? He approves of me.” Zevran finally loosened his hold on her enough for her to turn in his arms. Her hands moved immediately to cup his face, thumbs tracing his cheeks as he smiled warmly at her. “Antiva is quite dull without you.”  
  
“Tell me you’re really here and you’re not going to have to disappear in the morning,” she murmured, kissing him softly. A year since she’d felt the press of his mouth against hers, a year since she’d inhaled the scent of his skin under his leathers.  
  
“I believe the Crows can wait a little while,” he said against her lips, grinning. “Since they now answer to me.”  
  
Solona laughed into his mouth. “Of course they do.”  
  



End file.
